About me

Honestly, I am not sure how to describe myself since my youngest, beautiful, healthy, vibrant, precious daughter died suddenly on August 4, 2013 because I no longer know who I am behind this grief fog. However, I am absolutely positive about one thing, and that is I have changed.

I still consider myself to be the mother of 3 children. I will never say 2! That is not denial because I am living with the cold reality every minute of every day. I have always been just an ordinary woman who lived an ordinary life. As outdated as it may sound, I would have loved to be a stay at home Mom and raise many children but financially that was not possible. I love my three children with my whole heart and soul but now I feel like my heart has a hole in it and my life is unrecognizable as I struggle to make sense of why I have buried my daughter and how I am supposed to move on.

I have been married to a good man for 35 years, worked a full time job and always tried to do the right thing in most situations, even if those decisions were not popular. Never took the easy way out, tried to be a good mother, wife, daughter, sister, aunt and friend. My faith was strong. But I am struggling now. Why?

As I write this, I am not sure who I am anymore, but I do know I am very sad, lonely, misunderstood, pissed off, and lost in a world that no longer makes sense to me and I would give anything to have my old, less than perfect, life back so I could have my Amy back and complain about the price of gas and how short weekends are…

updated: 1/08/2015

17 months later and I am still desperately searching for a way to digest the unimaginable loss of my youngest child, Amy. Sadly, I have been privileged to meet many grievers since starting this blog, and the honor of learning about their child or loved one. I feel a responsibility to reiterate that I have no professional expertise in any field. I am just a Mom who misses her child and who is searching for a way to manage this debilitating pain. There is no easy way through or around it.

42 thoughts on “About me”

Jennifer

Writing through your grief can be more healing than you ever imagine. I too am the mother of three children and my youngest, our only daughter, died at age 15 in 1996. I am still writing, still healing, never whole because of the missing piece of my heart. You are part of an unchosen, unwanted sorority, those of us mothers whose children have died. But we all send embraces and hopes for you too as you walk through this grief journey. Peace and comfort to you.

Thank you, Kay. I am so very sorry that we share the loss of our youngest children and that we have found ourselves on this horrible path. It does help to know others care. Peace and comfort to you too.

grahamforeverinmyheart

I just came across your blog today and I was hoping it would be okay with you if I added it to the website that I’ve been curating in memory of my 23 year old son.http://www.scoop.it/t/grief-and-loss
The site is a collection of blogs, articles, videos and other resources that might be helpful or meaningful to bereaved parents and siblings.
I’m so sorry to hear about the loss of your Amy Marie.

Your blog is so authentic, so raw, so very real. You definitely have a way with words and I know that your journey will help others. Would it be okay for me to occasionally share one of your posts on my blog?

Of course, if you think it would help. I worry I am not offering much hope to the newly bereaved parents other than I am still here, 7 months later, to tell my story when I didn’t think I would be able to survive one day. Living with this unimaginable pain has been a challenge. Every day I miss my daughter more; and I miss having my complete family here with me!

That’s just it: you’re telling the story, giving voice to your experience, your pain, your journey. It’s helpful to hear that someone else is also struggling and surviving. Grief is such a solitary journey. It doesn’t matter that two people lost the same person or share a similar loss experience. Your pain is yours alone. No one else can understand, but you share the road, side by side, struggling and battling, some days it’s less intense and some days it’s more intense. By ‘listening’ to another’s struggle, a griever is not so alone – if even for that moment.

I agree. My husband and I discovered we need other grieving parents with their understanding nods. We are all wandering around dazed and confused and cannot do this alone. Thank you for your blog which helps us to find each other.

I don’t know who I am anymore either. Something you wrote (well, all that you wrote) resonated with me in particular that I had not put into words yet. About the price of gas. It was always a concern for me since I traveled in my job, but now when someone tells me what gas is today….I look at them and wonder, “who cares?” Regular things to me are nothing anymore. I am so sorry you lost your daughter. We should never have to bury our children.

I hear you. I feel the same way. Wouldn’t it be wonderful to be light hearted again and complain about the regular stuff? Instead, we are running a nonstop DVD in our minds of our daughters and there is not much room for anything else.

There is so much in your story that resonates with me — but particularly the pain. Less than two months ago our 27 year old son passed away. It is an unending nightmare.

As a pastor, I have every confidence that my son is in a better place. I even believe that God would not have allowed this to happen if there were not a greater purpose, including for my son. While I am not sure that this confidence does anything to lessen the pain, it does help to know that the “goodbye” was not forever. I will see him again — and I can’t wait for that day. http://johncrewsblog.blogspot.com/2014/02/heaven-3.html

I truly wish there were something I could do to take your pain away. At the end of the day, FOR MYSELF, it will never go away and will only subside when I can find the will to make loving God and loving other people my priority again. And, I know that needs to start with my wife and other 2 children. They deserve that — they need that from me. But, that doesn’t mean it will be easy. Jonathan almost never leaves my mind. I miss him so much.

At the end of the day, this is hard enough when you have faith. I don’t see how making it through without faith would be possible.

I will be praying for you.

John

P.S., I doubt there is anything I could do or say that would help in any way. No one has had any magic words for me to this point. But, please feel free to reach out to me if I can.

Heartfelt thank you for reaching out to me while struggling with your own loss of your son, Jonathan. My deepest sympathy to you and your family. I am so very sorry that you and your family are dealing with this unimaginable pain. It truly is a test of our faith and I am glad that your faith is so strong.

CiM

“Remember Amy!” you write – and I do, truly, daily. I do, though I’ve only gotten to know her through you.

What Hell you are enduring since that day she died. What Hell! No words can tell; they are so incapable of sharing the true depths. But you write anyway – and you write things worth reading. I’m always thankful to read what you write. I never think you’re too raw, or too real, or too forceful in what you say. How could a parent ever BE forceful enough, raw enough, to describe what it’s like to survive their child?

And always, I am so bitterly aware of the horror you endure to write as you do, connect with people’s hearts so meaningfully. I know you’d give anything – anything! – to have Amy back and have no *reason* to write.

I’ve said this elsewhere and you may have seen it – but my grief is not the death of a child. For that reason, I hope and pray it is not offensive if I read here and remember Amy with you. I know grief all too well, but I never, ever think I know YOUR grief. The death of a child is in a class by itself. The last thing I want to do is add to what you suffer.

I’ve seen your comments several places and always appreciated what you have to say. Always been helped, always felt your warmth, in the midst of so much suffering.

Remember Amy! Yes – today, again, I will do that. And always be thankful to read when you feel like writing.

Cathy, thank you so very much for taking the time to write this comment. You do not have to lose a child to be compassionate and caring and I am grateful for your support. Whatever your loss, pain is pain and loss hurts. When someone remembers my daughter, it makes me so happy. Thank you for reaching out to me and for remembering my sweet Amy. Peace be with you and I hope to hear from you again.

My heart aches with yours as I know all too well what you are feeling because I am a mother of three always, even though one is already gone from this life into Heaven. Your description of not recognizing yourself is universal especially moms who have spent their lives mothering and loving their children who lose their identity with the loss of a child. No one tells us how to separate ourselves from those children. We have spent their lifetime being caregiver and loving parent. This is why there is such a thing as an “empty nest syndrome”….our hearts and minds are connected and we do not separate easily from our children…short term or forever.

I am so sorry about Amy. I wish for you “peace that passes all understanding.”

Dee, I wanted to let you know this, that after I received my shawl and explained to my daughters and granddaughter the significance of the feather, this morning my granddaughter hugged my neck and said “feathers”….Amy is making an impression.

As a fellow grieving mother, I agree with every word you have written. As I read, I felt so heard…so understood. My heart swelled with relief and gratitude. Your words are such a comfort to me. I am not alone. I am not the only one who has thought these thoughts. After the death of my youngest, Kirsten, I attempted a blog (http://forrosesindecember.blogspot.com), but stopped when I felt that there was just no way to get it across and it seemed that I was hurting some feelings (again, part of being asked the impossible…protecting other people’s feelings when I can’t even manage my own.) I am so sorry about your Amy Marie. May Jan. 2 come quickly.
Annika

Dear Annika, I am so very sorry about the loss of your Kirsten. Every time someone says they can relate to my grief thoughts, I feel both sad that they are carrying this horrific pain and also comforted to be understood. It is a lonely road. And one which nothing in life prepares us for. I sometimes worry I am saying too much but if only others would be as concerned about us as we are about them. We have to learn to lovingly teach others how to honor our devastating loss and remember our child. I still struggle with the lovingly part of that sentence. Peace be with you. You are not alone.

Annika: PS: I read your blog and sorry you stopped writing. Your daughter, Kirsten is beautiful! I am so so sorry. I tried to follow you just in case you ever start posting again. Please feel free to email me anytime at dee.incollingo@gmail.com if you ever need to talk about our unimaginable path on the other side of Devastation Day.

Thanks, Dee. It means a lot to me that you read it. I couldn’t help but notice that we wrote about some of the same things, with almost the same exact words in some posts.
Wishing you at least some moments of peace.. I’ll keep in touch.

I just discovered your blog Dee, and am so very sorry about the loss of Amy. There really are no words that anyone can say. But, like you, I am journeying on this same path, I’m just a little further ahead. My son Matthew died in October 2010. And, like you, I have a blog-www.griefgraitude.com. How I wish that you and I could write about happier subjects. Just know that your words will help others. Again, I am so sorry.
In solidarity,
Robin

Robin, I return my heartfelt sympathy to you on the loss of your son, Matthew. There are no words which adequately describe this journey. I am always grateful to receive comfort and support from another mother who understands; yet saddened to learn of another family who has experienced this devastating unnatural loss. I, too, wish we could write about happier subjects. Wishing you peace.

Gidget

I just found your blog this morning and as I read it, I felt like I was reading my own thoughts and words. I lost my son unexpectedly on May 10, 2014 at the age of 30 and my life has never been the same. I am so sorry for your loss and the pain you are enduring, we keep hearing we are not alone, but I have never felt so alone in my life. thank you for sharing your life with us.

Gidget, I am so sorry for your loss of your precious son. Next month would have been my Amy’s 30th birthday and I cannot believe she will not be here to celebrate it. Actually, I can’t believe she is not here every day but some days hurt more than others. I, too, feel so alone in a way which I cannot easily explain. Nothing in life prepares us to outlive our child. No one understands unless they have lived this nightmare. Everyone has a place to put it, but us. Some will even twist our tragedy and our reaction to it into willful intention on our part. As if losing our child was not enough, we deal with all of the secondary losses. There is no easy way through or around it and my heart holds so much compassion for every parent who outlives their child. Again, I am so sorry.

Dee,
I know you are preparing to end your blog as 2 years approach, so I want to leave you a note of thanks. Your blog was one of the first I found that truly hit home and I was able to grasp a better understanding my feelings and know that, unfortunately, I am not alone. We share the same month of devastation separated by just over 1 year. I appreciate your raw honesty along with your love and grief for your beautiful daughter. I will always remember your words that touched my heart and above all, Amazing Amy. Thank you for sharing yourself and Amy.

Thank you so much for your kind words. How can I adequately express my sympathy to you on your loss? I am not going to close my blog next month, but rather wind it down to a monthly post. How many times can you say the same thing? Sending you my warmest regards and sympathy.

Heather Couts

I lost my 27 year old son, Jesse, in March of this year. I am good at pretending that I am okay, but inside I’m a mess. I feel like I just don’t belong in this world anymore– I don’t fit into my life. I am so sorry for your loss of your precious Amy. Just Friday, for the the first time since Jesse died, someone asked me how many children I have. I told them about my other two children, then told them about Jesse and that he had died in March. It probably made them uncomfortable, but I will not hide Jesse. Sometimes I just want to run away and start a new life somewhere else. But the sadness would just come with me. This is something that I can’t run away from, can’t “get through” to the other side, nor move on from. I have a string faith which helps. I know he is in the next world waiting for me. But I want to be with him now.

Oh Heather, i am so very sorry for the loss of your Jesse. Good for you for sharing about Jesse when asked how many children you have. I will always say 3. Always, always, always! Too bad if it makes someone uncomfortable for a few minutes. I am uncomfortable forever living on this side of the veil without Amy and still cry every day. Cancer has taught me how much I am not ready to join Amy yet because I dont want to leave my husband and two children. Amy and Jesse were the same age … so, so, many memories. Bless you, Heather. I also feel like an alien. Life is so unfair.

I just want you to know I follow your blog and your words really resonate with me. I lost 5-year-old daughter and only child, 8 months ago and I don’t know how I’m surviving this. My husband is the blogger in our family now as I don’t have the words to articulate this grief, but you do. Keep writing and sharing your precious girl and your journey. It helps more than you will ever know.

Sorry for my late response. I am sincerely sorry for the loss of your 5 year old daughter. The words are hard to find in the midst of such devastation. No one wants to hear me anymore so I blog. No one knows this pain except those who live it. I understand and my heart breaks for both of us. Take care, Katy.

My brother and grieving mother

I have searched high and low for SOMETHING (I don’t know what) to try understand a mothers grief and try more than my best to help my mom.
We lost my brother November 2015, unexpectedly, he will forever be 27… 1 year is coming up and we are about to start trial.
I fear I am losing my mother to grief… and I fear as days go by, things get worse.

Its impossible to explain a mother’s heart after losing a child but I pray your Mom will see your pain. It took me two years to really see my two children who remain here because of the shock, depression and pain. I am so sorry for your pain. Its all so complicated.

debbymccs60

Dear Dee, thank you for your blog.Thank you for introducing me to Amy. The picture of Amy in her boxing gloves made me cry, my daughter Tamar did Thai boxing, there are many similarities between our girls. And we are also 5. I also became ill with Graves Disease, needed a thyroidectomy last week Please keep writing, please keep on being true. Xx Remembering Amy and Tamar

Debby, my sincere sympathy on the loss of Tamar. The loss of a child affects every fiber of us My thyroid was the first to check out on me as it stopped functioning. Then cancer. I am fighting bc I am not ready to leave my loved ones on this side of the veil but the chemo is brutal. It doesnt help that I am so depressed too. Being sick makes me miss Amy more and more. Yes, remembering our precious boxers, Amy and Tamar. xo

Heather Couts

Just read your reply to my comment about Jesse. I, too,have cancer. I was diagnosed with breast cancer two weeks before Jesse died, the was told I am stage IV two weeks after he died. Right now I’m “dancing with N.E.D.” (no evidence of disease). Last Friday, it was a year since Jesse died. I still feel lost.

Dying is a lonely journey. Not only for the sick person but also for the family. As hard as we may try to avoid death, the truth is that we do a lousy job of it. Science and medicine will certainly postpone it, even staying healthy might seem to delay it, but the harsh reality is that death does not wait for you, it does not ask you, and it does not listen to you. Death ignores your feelings and wants; you do not matter to death…Death is the only certainty in life! We need to remember that our existence here is fragile, and we never have as much time with people as we think we do. If there is someone or someones out there that you love, don’t neglect that and don’t put off engaging with them because waits for no-one... Vic's Journey ended on 18 January 2013 at 10:35. She was the most courageous person in the world and has inspired thousands of people all over the world. Vic's two boys are monuments of her existence. She was an amazing mother, daughter, sister and friend. I will miss you today, tomorrow and forever my Angle Child.

Dying is a lonely journey. Not only for the sick person but also for the family. As hard as we may try to avoid death, the truth is that we do a lousy job of it. Science and medicine will certainly postpone it, even staying healthy might seem to delay it, but the harsh reality is that death does not wait for you, it does not ask you, and it does not listen to you. Death ignores your feelings and wants; you do not matter to death…Death is the only certainty in life! We need to remember that our existence here is fragile, and we never have as much time with people as we think we do. If there is someone or someones out there that you love, don’t neglect that and don’t put off engaging with them because waits for no-one... Vic's Journey ended on 18 January 2013 at 10:35. She was the most courageous person in the world and has inspired thousands of people all over the world. Vic's two boys are monuments of her existence. She was an amazing mother, daughter, sister and friend. I will miss you today, tomorrow and forever my Angle Child.